


Selfish

by Bloody_Destination



Category: Naruto
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Better, M/M, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloody_Destination/pseuds/Bloody_Destination
Summary: Tobirama wishes he were stronger. He is a formidable shinobi, but as a man, he is weak. If he were stronger, he may have been able to see his brother’s dream sooner, could have spared so many more lives. If he were stronger, he could have seen past the war and hate his father entrenched into his mind.





	Selfish

Tobirama wishes he were stronger. He is a formidable shinobi, but as a man, he is weak. If he were stronger, he may have been able to see his brother’s dream sooner, could have spared so many more lives. If he were stronger, he could have seen past the war and hate his father entrenched into his mind. 

But he is not a strong man and, even as he is forced face first into the Hokage’s desk, in his own brother’s office, stripped of his clothing and dignity, he knows he will not stop it. He has the power to, the ability, even if he is physically weaker, knows that, he could break the sweat slicked hold on himself, hairashin to any number of locations. If he were to say no, the man on top of him would release him. 

He will not, though and he feels every violent thrust of hips against his own and says nothing, does nothing. Even as filthy words leave the other’s mouth, taunting him, holding him down with words alone. 

Tobirama feels no pleasure in this, nor does Madara wish him to. It is pure domination, from the hand holding his neck flush against the desk, to the blood and cum dripping down his legs, spread wide and held there at the hips by a bruising grip. The bite marks on his shoulder are meant to hurt, to mark and bleed as much as possible, as he ghosts over old ones and makes knew ones. 

He does not blame himself for Izuna’s death. It was war after all. But, a dark corner of his conscience whispers, had the younger Uchiha lived, this would not be happening. His guilt stops him, though. He feels guilt for the harm he has caused his elder brother’s dearest friend, a friend whom he is closer to than he has ever been with Tobirama. He is guilty for bringing his brother’s dearest friend into an ever-darkening abyss. He is guilty for hurting his brother. 

He does not scream out, though he is close. He curses the slight noise he is incapable of holding back, what Madara forces from him in the most violent of ways. His eyes water, but he does not cry. Not until he is alone in the sanctuary of his own home.

He wishes he were a stronger man. Wishes he could build the courage to apologies for the death of his once rival. Wishes he could apologies to his brother’s best friend, for being the cause to his growing insanity. If only he were strong enough, he thinks, to tell his brother the pain that Madara hides so well, only ever showing in these mockers of intimate moments between himself and the Uchiha clan head.

He is not a stronger man. He thinks of the look Madara is not so good at hiding. When the act is done and both are breathing heavily, Tobirama sees it. The way he looks at Tobirama, the way he puts all of his hate and sadness and longing into the man at his feet. He does not stop the other when he reaches out in the privacy of these moments, because it is not Madara or himself that he is sparing, but the village. A little voice in the back of his head also thinks - sparing Madara’s sanity. 

Some would say Tobirama is a weapon, bred for combat and death. But that is not true. A tool is a more apt description. Forged for peace, always for peace for his brother and later his village. He will be whatever is needed. He was a sword for combat, the glue for his family, a protector and guide for the children unwillingly thrown into a war they do not understand, a shield between his brother and the clan elders. For the village, he has become its shadow, the deadly knife behind offered peace. 

For Madara, he will be the tool to keep the man from becoming the villages greatest threat. He will make sure this man keeps his sanity for as long as possible, even if it breaks him. He will be whatever Madara needs him to be, so that he can protect his clan, the village, his brother and the generations to come.

He does not faulter, even when Madara holds him down, makes him bleed, scores deeply into any available flesh, laughs in his ear, calling him a coward. He does not faulter. Only when a tool faulters is when it becomes dull and useless and he tells himself that will only happen when he is dead. 

Not very often, Madara will smooth hands over his torn flesh, as if in comfort, as if in apology. Tobirama does not let him because he knows the man’s sanity will not survive the kindness he offers to his brother’s killer. It is only in those times that Tobirama will act off the script, when he will push back against the pain, force a growl that turns those soft touches into a bruising grip.

He does not allow anything intimate, one of the only rules that Tobirama was able to make and willing to enforce. The touches linger long after, though always the easiest to stop. It’s only gotten too far once, an unstable day in the clan heads ever evolving life, happening early on in the foundation of the village. He had trailed lips past a pale neck held taut by a vicious grip in white hair. The kiss had been short, but the bite that the clan head had been given in return left his mouth bloodied and the Uchiha howling. 

He remembers little of that encounter blacking out before the end. He remembers waking up to Madara healing him. Neither spoke but that particular intimate touch had become yet another silent taboo between the two. 

Tobirama also draws a line between their work life and their private one. Yet, he was so easily corralled into his brother’s office, overlooking the village, still growing and evolving. Forcibly bent over – no so forcibly that he did not allow, never forced – the papers of his brother’s desk scattered and knowing he will be the one left to clean up the mess. 

You bend over for your brother in here already? Madara had viciously said What difference does it make?

He wishes he did not give in so easily to this man. But Madara had a point. Perhaps it is for that reason, his willingness to give his brother anything, that has forced himself into this position with Madara. If not for his brother, he would feel nothing for his former enemy. But this is Hashirama’s best friend, a man he works in close proximity to everyday because of this, a founder and protector of this infant village. All because of Hashirama, who treasures his friendship about his own brother. 

He purposefully does not think on his own emotions towards this man. He does not think how he defers his questions on politics and infrastructure to Madara, rather than Hashirama. He desperately hides – even from himself – his yearning to gain Madara’s approval. 

It isn’t right. It isn’t healthy and, in these moments, Tobirama fears for his own sanity. Yet another sacrifice, another piece of himself he is losing for the good of the village. 

When the deed is done and Tobirama collapses to the floor and the desk the only thing stopping him from completely falling over, Madara is always the first to leave. He is left alone to pick up the pieces of his shattered life. 

He’ll have to clean the floor of the blood and cum, already darkening the wood. He has time. Hashirama will not return from Uzushiogakure for some days to come. No one enters the Hokage’s office anyway when the man is away but for himself and Madara. 

Tobirama can’t help but to let himself fall to the floor, slowly lowering himself till he rests on his side, head against the cool floor. He stares, exhausted, at the desk he designed himself and his brother brought to life. Hashirama wanted a grand desk with designs etched in of Uchiha and Senju, gloriously hand in hand with a light shining behind them, weapons at their feet. Tobirama was vindictive in his adamant refusal.

It was a simple desk, made for use rather than aesthetics. The wood, a simple and smooth red oak, rounded on the edges and dozens of hidden slots ¬-remembers forcing his brother to memorize what each spot would be used for.

Staring at it now, he can notice the small touches his brother added. Konoha’s symbol was indented in small patterns at the bottom edge of the desk, intermittently, so was the fan of the Uchiha clan along with the Senju and Uzumaki clan Uchiwa. 

He can’t help but to laugh bitterly at his sentimental brother. Isn’t this what they fought for, though? For unity? For peace? 

Tobirama snorts. Peace. A notion that is hanging on by a thread and that threat is Tobirama’s sanity. But he’s used to cleaning up his brother’s mess, even if that mess is a bitter, emotionally unstable best friend. Tobirama wishes -almost but not quite wishes- that he did not love his brother so much, that he could let the Uchiha clan head self-implode. 

Dispite all of what was between himself and Madara, he actually feels comfortable leaving his brother’s care in the other man’s hands. Madara has always been gentle with Hashirama, easy to forgive his brother’s foolishness, always a shoulder Hashirama could cry on and tell his deepest regrets. 

Not since childhood has Tobirama been anything as close to the brother Madara has been to Hashirama.

He’s sure Madara loves Hashirama, more than the brother that the Hashirama sees Madara as. Yet another tool -a replacement- that Tobirama has to fill for his village, for his brother and for Madara. Even if Hashirama sees him as no less than the tool he is, he would still give him anything that his brother asks. That means giving his brother his best friends back and the village a sane shinobi.

Tobirama feels a touch at his shoulder and he doesn’t have the energy to startle at the sudden touch. The touch is gentle at his shoulder as it travels down his arm then back again in an almost soothing manner. He tries to shrug away the hand -of course it’s Madara with his guilt complex only showing when he chooses- but it is persistent. 

The hands rub in all the rights spots, needing at the back of his shoulders and trailing healing chakra down his back and to the bruises at his hips. He can’t help the relieved exhale that sends a shudder down his body. 

“Go away.” He says from a voice, rough from raged breathing and then the hand is at the back of his neck, “I said leave.”

The hand tightens only for a second and Tobirama almost wants to beg him -do it you coward.

But then the hand is leaving him, and he feels the cold from the absence of the eternally smoldering form that is Madara Uchiha. 

It is so quiet that he almost believes Madara has left, but his sense are returning to him by the second and he can practically see the flame like chakra out of the corner of his eyes. Even closed he’s like a sunset, so much so that if he were to look directly at the Uchiha with only his sensory ability, he would surely go blind from looking at the sun personified. 

Madara breaks the silence, his voice quiet, almost contemplative, not at all the right town for the words, “You’re a bastard, you know. Selfish and a brat.”

Tobirama grunts, and he feels he should use his words in a more eloquent way but he how can he when he can’t even bare to look at the older man.

“You think I like doing this?” 

Then why do it? He almost says, but they both know and there is no reason to say it. He is tired of being petty, at least for now, while they are alone, and he is exhausted.

“I’m done after tonight.” Madara says and that nearly jolts Tobirama into a sitting position, but there is still pain in his body. Madara isn’t a healer and Tobirama is not his brother who can heal his own wounds almost as soon as they appear. 

Madara’s hand stops his aborted movement anyway, catching his shoulder and carefully forcing him onto his back. He looks away, yet can feel that heated gaze taking in his body with a single minded focus. 

“You think this is helping.” 

His voice is soft as he takes in the bruises that litter his best and hips and the bruises Madara can’t reach deep enough to heal, the bruises that reach down to his bones. The Uchiha have never been known for their healing and Madara chief amongst them known only for his destruction. But he tried and despite his lack of skill, he’s down more healing for Tobirama now than he’s probably down for his own clan, more than he could do for his own younger brother.

Fingers brush against the handprint darkened into Tobirama’s thigh, “But it’s not. You can’t say what I want you to say, nor can you undo past actions.”

Tobirama pushes the fingers away with a sharp smack sitting up until he is eye level, resisting the discomfort and forcing himself to look eye to eye with the other man. He has no reason to be angry, no reason to feel the gut wrenching fear at -don’t leave me. Not like everyone else- but instead.

“You are a coward.” He forces himself forward, arms reaching out to push Madara down to hold him -I will not let you leave.

Tobirama does not know when it was Madara who become the one thing that was both driving him insane and also keeping him from completely breaking.

“I hate you.” He does not think of how easy it is to push the other to lie flat on his back, Tobirama straddling his half naked body, bare shoulders underneath his shaky grip, “You are a coward and I hate you.”

He wonders when he fell in love with the man underneath of him. 

It’s wrong, he knows. What they’ve shared is immoral and most likely illegal under one of Hashirama’s self-imposed laws, if not outright wrong against nature. He’s sure Hashirama would be angry for him -even surer that the elder would eventually forgive Madara.

“What do you want then?” He thought he was above begging, above whatever it is he’s doing now, “Well?”

“You wish to continue this?” He sounds aghast that Tobirama is willing to go so far, “I leave you bleeding, on some occasion, clinging to life from bloodlose, and you want to know what I want to continue hurting you?”

Now he sounds angry, but he does not force Tobirama off himself, doesn’t even raise a hand. His fury is loud, but still and the shaking is only from Tobirama.

“What I want.” Madara says, his steel fire fury, “Has it ever been what you want, Tobirama? When has that question been given to you?”

“Shut up. Enough of these games.”

Madara snorts and it’s already clear that, like a raging fire, quick to start, he’s also just as fast to put out, “The only game is in your mind, Tobirama. So tell me, what do you want?”

“I-“ He’s never been asked this question.

Never what he wants -always ‘what can you do’ ‘why can’t you do this’ ‘why can’t you be more like…’. The question takes him off guard and he doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what Madara wants him to say. Does not know what would appease the man below him.

“I-“

His arms are shaking so bad that he can’t hold himself up anymore, but Madara catches him, lowers him until their bodies fit perfectly together and Tobirama breathes in the ash and salt smell, listens to the heartbeat that is so much gentler than Tobirama’s racing heart. 

“You do not have to answer now.” Madara says into his hair, “I don’t like hurting you, Tobirama. Despite what you might think. You are too selfish to apologies and I have been petty as well.”

He pauses to take a deep breath, hard for him to continue.

“I forgave you a long time ago even before I could admit to it. I was waiting for you to apologies before I said it, but you are good at hiding your own guilt and I doubted I would actually ever hear you say it.”   
Tobirama buries himself deeper into the man’s neck, from shame or embarrassment, he isn’t sure.

“What I feel for you now is disgusting after what I’ve been doing to you and I have no right to even say it. But I already said that I was selfish.” 

His hand moves from Tobirama’s shoulder, sliding gently against heated flesh until it meets his sweat soaked hair. He closes his eyes as fingers gently run through the tangles. He does not mean to sigh but he also does not regret the noise as he relaxes against the other’s body and he can’t help but to smile into the neck that his face is pressed against at the feeling.

The noise spurs the other’s fingers to tighten in short white locks. In a surprisingly swift yet gentle movement, Tobirama finds himself on his back with Madara hovering over him.

“Damn you!” He says, his face contorting into rage and hesitation, “I am trying to stop myself and you have to make those adorable noises!” Black eyes look away for a second and then back with a determined stare aimed at Tobirama’s lips, “I’m going to kiss you and I swear to the Sage if you bite me again…”

“Wait-“

Madara puts a hand over his mouth, “Shut up. If I kiss you, are you going to bite me? Nod if you’re going to bite me.”

Tobirama stays perfectly still and Madara’s eyes narrow in a dangerous, hungry way. The ache he feels in his lower half is turning into a different sort of pain the longer those eyes linger on his. He nearly shivers when Madara slowly moves his hand away, thump trailing his lips feather light, remaining for a second longer than necessary. The broadness of his hand covers his cheek in an almost demanding way, tilting his up.

The only hint at before lips cover his own is the flex the hand gives against his heated skin. Lips move against his own, demanding and like fire, burning his entire body and he arches into the touch. Another hand slides delicately over a bruised hip, gentler than the rough kiss Madara holds his breath with. The to opposing touches has Tobirama moaning. 

He can feel the smirk against his lips as the other chuckles lowly, vibrations felt through their shared contact. Tobirama feels vindictive as he parts his lips enough to take Madara’s lip into his own mouth and the Uchiha reflexively deepens the kiss enough for the white haired Senju to firmly grasp onto the soft flesh with teeth and bite.

“Bastard.” The other moans into his mouth, “I will thoroughly enjoy what I am about to do to you for that.”

Madara trails his mouth down the side of his jaw, feather light heat following his touch until a tongue slides down the side of his neck. Pale hands move to grip dark hair as the sensation has that pain he feels sending pleasure over every oversensitive nerve in his body. 

He gasps and pants as Madara moves lips and tongue over unexplored parts of his body and brings wave after wave of pleasure. He bites at a nipple and Tobirama is sure the noise he makes is nearly a sob. He wants to beg to stop, beg for more, plead to move lower, faster, harder. 

“Madara.” He gasps out as a hand moves along his thigh, “Please…”

“Tell me what you want, Tobirama.” The Uchiha practically purse this against a particularly sensitive part of his collar bone and the Senju whimpers, “It sounds like you want more.”

Even with those damning words, the Uchiha, with slight hesitation, lifts his head away from reddening flesh and the hand disappearing from his thigh. He nearly cries out at the touch that was so close and now gone.

“I told you already, I won’t continue until I am sure I know what you want.” The Uchiha says this and if Tobirama was not sure of his own sight, he would have dismissed the pain in the other’s black eyes that disappear almost as soon as it came, “Despite what you may think you’ve agreed to-dear Sage, what I am doing now-is rape. I shouldn’t have gone this far.”

“No!” Tobirama reaches out desperately, because he has agreed to this.

He may have done this originally for the safety of his village and the happiness of his brother, but he cannot deny now the selfish part of himself that wants Madara’s attention, wants the Uchiha to see past his hatred, past being guilt and sadness, and see Tobirama. The other is offering him something he never thought he would ever have. After all, what does a tool need with love and want and desire? But he wants it and if it is what will keep Madara in the village for a little while longer, then all the better.

Tobirama pushes himself up on shaky arms, a hand grasping for a fire hot cheek and he brings his lips to meet the others. Madara reaches back, hands gripping at the back of his head.

“Tobirama.” Madara’s voice is a warning as he once again breaks the kiss.

He responds in kind with his own growl, “You. I want you.”

There is something wrong with himself, Tobirama knows, but he wants to be selfish for once in his life. He wants to have something he is not willing to sacrifice for his brother and the village. He wants to keep Madara, for himself and only himself-keep him from Hashirama’s thoughtlessness.

Madara still breaks the kiss and Tobirama desperately clings and he is thankful that Madara does not pull away more it takes to still breath the same air. Madara forces him to look up with a slight tug to his hair and he hesitates for only a moment before he meets Sharingan red and black eyes. 

“You’re covered in blood.” 

Tobirama shouldn’t have expected anything less and he sighs in amusement, “So are you.”

A more insistent tug to his hair tells him of the Uchiha’s irritation before he even begins to yell, “Bastard! It’s your damn blood!”

“Should I add yours into the mix then? I don’t think I bit you hard enough.” 

He expect an outburst, more violent yelling or another tug to his hair but it seems Madara is yet to be done surprising him. All he gets is an amused laugh and Madara pulls away completely, leaving him sitting awkwardly on the wooden floor.

“Stay.” 

As if he’s a dog!

He doesn’t go far, only enough to retrieve Tobirama’s clothing, discarded in the corner of the room. He kneels at Tobirama’s side and without a word, extends an arm around his shoulders and underneath his legs and lifts. Reflexively he clutches at the man’s shirt as he always does when Hashirama carries him similar. 

“Put me down. I am not incapable of standing.” 

“You’re becoming annoying again. Perhaps I should leave you.” But he makes no move to relinquish his hold, even going to far as to tighten his hold, “I’m sure you don’t want the entire village seeing you indisposed.”

He knows exactly what Madara means when he says this. He’s tired yes, but he has more than enough chakra to perform a Harishin to the marker located in his living room. It takes only a pulse of his chakra and the tug in his gut before the world spins for a second and the two are in his home.

Madara has only ever been to his home once in the two years since the village was erected but it is so similar to the mass-built homes that he easily finds his way, even in the dark, around the rooms.

He brings him to the bathroom first. Tobirama holds his voice as he only sets him down long enough to remove his own clothing before picking him back up and settling them both into the bath. He does say something when Madara begins to wash him, only stopping when Madara refuses to stop kissing him every time he opens his mouth. 

Madara, Tobirama realizes, is very good at washing. So good in fact that he’s fairly sure he blacked out when he came from Madara’s…washing. 

The bastard goes so far as wrap him in a towel before carrying him to his bedroom. Madara, he should have known, forgoes clothes for either of them when he drop Tobirama onto the bed and precedes to fall on top of him.

“Bastard, get off.” He grunts, trying and failing to disentangle himself from both the towel wrapped around himself and the heavily muscled man on top of him, “You’re soaking my bed.”

He laughs into the part of the towel over his chest that his head is smooshed against, “I can think of a couple other thinks we can soak into your bed.”

Tobirama grimaces, thinking of cleaning his very new, very white sheets of whatever it is Madara thinks of getting on his sheets. He keeps his silence though, because he knows Madara enough to know that if he says something now, Madara will no doubt do exactly what he tells him not. 

“Stop that. I can feel your face making that kami awful scowl.” He says this as he roles over, allowing Tobirama to take his first full lungful of air as the heavy weight of the man is removed. 

His entire body is replaced by arms circling around him and pulling him close against an expansive chest and black hair falling against him. He almost wants to question his bodies response to relax when Madara touches him. He knows it was a given in the past, during their less then gentle fucking to reduce tearing and discomfort. He does not quit get that far when he feels the exhaustion begin to creep in and he almost doesn’t mind how his body has come react with Madara. 

“We’ll talk in the morning.” He thinks he hears Madara say, but he’s tired and nearly asleep, “We should also tell Hashirama. He’ll be angry but it onl-“

“Shut up.” He mumbles, “Tired…sleep. Or stab you.”

He falls asleep to the rumble of silent laugher and tightening arms and the feeling of not actually hating himself for once.


End file.
